


Tired Fantasies

by spellwing777



Series: Split [3]
Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Outtake, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellwing777/pseuds/spellwing777
Summary: Some more outtakes from split. Rorschach has a very specific request from Walter.





	

The night was generous.

A string of fists and fury and shed blood took down another drug cartel, another big case closed. He was flying high on victory and adrenaline, and he wasn’t the only one. Beside him Night Owl climbed the steps into Archie like a bloodied predator returning to its den, moon shining on the rims of the goggles. The stink of sweat and hot leather filled the ship in a musky cloud, and the interior was to small, too close. It was only natural that they started to needle each other; needing some way of reliving the tension. 

“Jesus; did you have to beat his face to a pulp-”

“Didn’t see his face before, Nite Owl. Vastly improved.”

“Man, you have the worst sense of humor.” He huffed a harsh, feral laugh; yanking off the cowl. “Aggh, he got my ribs. I think I popped one.”

“Getting slow.” He growled. “Sloppy.”

“Oh _fuck_ you.”

“ _Language_ Nite Owl-”

“Shut up, you miserable bastard.” He snorted and jammed the autopilot button, and the ship shuddered as it took off for home. “We had a huge victory and I am bound and determined to enjoy it.”

Rorschach growled, and knocked against him on purpose on the way to the copilot chair. It was juvenile, petty, and the both knew it; and Nite Owl didn’t usually rise to the bait. This time, however, he actually shoved back and this started a half-serious fistfight; blowing off steam, harmless. It was fist-on-palms, until Rorschach got a cheap shot in by yanking the goggles out, then letting go so they would snap back painfully. Nite Owl yelled in outrage, and body slammed him into the wall.

“That hurt you _ass_.” He snarled, pinning his squirming partner against the metal. 

“Was the intent.” He wheezed past the shoulder in his diaphragm, and took the opportunity to grab the cowl and yank, making it tighten around Nite Owl’s throat. He gagged and recoiled.

“Gah! Let go of that, you jerk!”

“Say ‘uncle’.” He tightened his grip. 

Nite Owl snorted, and popped the clasp that attached the hood to the rest of his costume; then wrapped his smaller partner in a bear hug. Arms pinned to his sides he could only squirm and kick his legs, a good foot off the ground. He was having difficulty breathing too, with the large arms practically crushing him against the broad chest. He gasped and struggled, suddenly realizing the boiling heat that had been simmering in his chest all night had moved lower; his erection bent uncomfortably in his pants. He hoped his partner hadn’t noticed.

“Let go, Nite Owl.” He wheezed. 

His eyes narrowed, predatory and beautiful. “Say ‘uncle’.”

He sucked a breath through his teeth as the sight and the words sent a shuddering jolt down his spine; half curling in on himself. “ _Uncle._ ” He hissed.

He staggered a bit as he was unceremoniously dropped, and Nite Owl went to the controls. He gingerly sat, grimacing; he kept his hands clenched in the pockets of his trench, trying to hide his condition. He tried to force his mind to go blank, but Nite Owl looked over at him with a dangerous smile and crescent reflections on his goggles. He saw a minds-eye flash of a tired fantasy; the curve of the chair’s headrest digging into his stomach as his own hands dug into the leather of the armrests, trying to steady himself while the heat radiating off his partner pressed against his spine-

“Hey buddy,” Nite Owl disengaged the autopilot “We’re back. Coffee?”

“Have to be going.” He growled. He needed to get out of here, anywhere but here; away from the thick smell of leather and sweat and the residual heat of arms wrapped around him, corded strength pinning him-

Yes. It was time to go.

\---

Walter jerked awake as the window rattled; turning to look blearily at Rorschach as he jumped down lightly to the worn and faded carpet. He narrowed his eyes at his vigilante half, seeing him still in uniform. 

“Back early.” He muttered, annoyed. 

He didn’t answer, breath hissing noisily in and out of him, thin chest heaving, as he paced the room with frustrated energy. Walter cocked his head, concerned. It looked like he had run a marathon; but that still hadn’t calmed him. That usually worked; pushing his body into exhaustion until he didn’t have the energy for troubled thoughts. He sat up, hanging his legs over the side of the bed and studied him intently, worried.

“Bad patrol?” He asked.

Rorschach shook his head jerkily and kept pacing.

He frowned, and his next thought was that Daniel had gotten a minor injury, cutting the night short.

“Nite Owl?”

The name sent a full body shiver, and he wrenched to a stop making a soft, stuttering whine. Walter had to lean back as Rorschach suddenly invaded his personal space, the half-up mask showing a mouth baring gritted teeth.

“Make it _stop_.” He snarled; a note of desperation in the last word.

He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what to even _say_ but he never got to speak even if he had the words because there was a rough mouth on his. The teeth drew blood, and he winced under the assault, resigning himself to another rough session of loveless lovemaking, leaning back.

“No.” Rorschach shook his head. “Don’t want that.”

He frowned in confusion, wondering what he meant. The vigilante moved away, and yanked a chair away from the cheap card table that served as his dinner table. Walter stood up and looked at the rusted, metal folding chair, still uncomprehending. Rorschach snarled in frustration and flung off his trench, then bent over the chair, the back pressed into his stomach, arms draped over the front and gripping the edges of the seat.

_Oh._ He recognized this pose, this tired fantasy. He grabbed the Vaseline. 

Standing behind and curled over him he felt an unexpected stab of lust at the thought of dominating his violent, imposing persona; and wondered if that made him narcissus, about to drown in his reflection. Tired of his introspection and impatient, Rorschach’s hand moved, sliding back to roughly palm himself. Walter bared his teeth at his persona’s complete lack of shame, and grabbed the wrist hard and yanked it away. Rorschach didn’t snarl back, or smash his elbow back into his diaphragm; because that was not part of the fantasy. The fantasy was having Nite Owl- _dangerous smile and crescent reflections on the glass_ -force pleasure from his body, make him wail and beg and _submit_. Punish him for wanting this, wanting this as badly as a whore-

Walter flushed, realizing that somewhere along the line this had become not just Rorschach’s fantasy. He hissed and shook his head, coming back to the here and now.

He unsnapped one suspender, and used it to bind both wrists together, keeping him from making any further attempts. The other he shoved off the shoulder and yanked the pants down around the thighs, and used his knee to nudge them apart. The Vaseline was cold, and Rorschach hissed at the cool smear of it, then hissed again at the sudden intrusion of a finger. He didn’t give him much time to adjust, sliding it in and out only a few times before adding another, then another. Walter didn’t spend much time on preparation, because he knew that he wanted it to burn, and he knew exactly home much he could take.

He slid the Vaseline to coat his own member, shivering at the cool slickness, and started to push in. He panted, pupils shrinking. He’d never...felt it like this. Rorschach had always been on top so far; he had never gotten the opportunity to feel the heat and grip-

...He was never going to be able to not fantasize about doing this to Daniel, now.

He groaned and pushed in further, feeling the small tremors rippling through the form beneath him. Rorschach was sucking air noisily in between his teeth, trying to restrain himself, but it wasn’t going to be long before he was going to want to move. He finally seated himself and paused briefly, but he had no restraint; and it wasn’t long before he was thrusting. He did have the self-loathing, though, and he started to hiss out the words that he’d snarled mentally at himself every time he’d given into lust. He snarled _filth_ and _depraved_ ; and when Rorschach started to buck, arching back onto his cock, trying to get more, he hissed one of the oldest-and the truest-word he’d ever been cursed with.

_“Whore”_ He gasped. _“Whoreson.”_

Rorschach made a stuttering, broken whine at that; and loud, incoherent begging for harder, faster. He was forced to wedge the scarf into the gasping mouth, and wrapped the ends around his fist. It did little to muffle him, and he jerked it hard, snapping his head back and to the side, forcing him into silence. He bit savagely at the exposed neck, knowing that was what he wanted; to be bitten and slapped and claimed. He sped up, ramming in hard, and wrapped a tight fist around Rorschach’s erection. The vigilante managed to make a strangled cry when he came, slicking his hand with cum, and the squeezing convulsions finally undid Walter. 

Walter was also an inconsiderate lover; although it might have been more out of a sense of petty revenge. He leaned heavily down on him, letting his full weight crush Rorschach’s diaphragm into the chair back. Eventually Rorschach got the motor control back to weakly shove him off and stagger to the bed. He shucked off the uniform and slid it under the floorboards, and sprawled onto the bed. Walter didn’t join him; wiping himself down, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He stared down at his vigilante persona; he had his arm thrown over his face and breathing gradually slowing. 

He felt the shame pooling in his belly already, and wished it had been exorcised from him like Rorschach had.


End file.
